


Bluebell(e)

by Vixx2pointOh



Series: One Shots [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Memories, Nicknames, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21898525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vixx2pointOh/pseuds/Vixx2pointOh
Summary: Bucky x Reader (Female)"...when his head turns to you, albeit dizzyingly slow, you see the pain in his pale blue eyes.The patient is just as much a prisoner in this place as you are."Set in a time and place where Bucky was still under HYDRA control.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Series: One Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874092
Comments: 16
Kudos: 273





	Bluebell(e)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evansgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evansgirl/gifts).



> For Bish xox

His eyes are vacant, his skin clammy and yet he is shaking. The fan above your heads hums as it cuts through the dusty and stagnant air. You tend to his wounds as carefully as you can, knowing a nameless face on the other side of the plate of glass opposite you watches you with cautious and callous eyes. Those eyes aren't worried for your safety, and you know that, they are watching their prize possession, the man on the gurney.

You clean the gash above his eye but all they have given you is solution that was no more sterile than dirty tap water and your touch can't remain gentle for you to clean the debris from the wound.

As you press a little harder, he winces and for a breathless moment you fear for your own safety. But, when his head turns to you, albeit dizzyingly slow, you see the pain in his pale blue eyes.

The patient is just as much a prisoner in this place as you are.

Talking is forbidden, but with your back to the window you decide perhaps it is worth the risk.  
“I'm sorry,” you mouth and for a moment you wonder if he understood as he looks at you without blinking.  
Until he responds under his breath, “I know.”

That would be the first time you met him, the man with the metal arm and the kind eyes.   
The one they called the Winter Soldier.

The first time.  
But not the last.

**//**

Long ago you had lost the concept of time, but you knew that months had once given way to years as you were slowly stripped of the last fragments of who you once were. There were questions you no longer asked yourself and dreams that had long since passed over into hazy emptiness. 

You were allowed to walk about freely now, somewhat, but, those long empty halls, the rows of barred doors, and the terrified screams at night were all part of your prison and your bars were still very much real.

You make sure to move around silently, going where they tell you and tending to those wounded. Some were soldiers, while others were prisoners much like you.

They watch you less carefully now and you make most of your rounds in solitude, studying patterns and routes. You don't know why you do it, resignation of your place here had settled in some time ago, but you do it all the same; listening, watching, learning. 

Perhaps you should insist on a guard, you know that many of the men you treat could kill you with their bare hands and you would be barely missed, but you need their trust and that means you enter alone.

He was on your rounds today and your chart tells you that the _esteemed_ doctor wants a blood sample. As you walk into the room he looks up at you from the bed where he sat reading a tattered book. He was lucid, but quiet. You make your way to the bed with nothing more than a clipboard and what you need to collect the sample, rattling in the plastic tray.

He watches you and you feel the heat of his eyes follow you around the room like bullets. Your hands are trembling as you approach him and you almost yelp when he moves; but it was simply to roll his sleeve up to assist you.

“I know you,” he whispers as you tightly fasten a cord belt around his bicep. _He's never recognised you before..._

But you aren't supposed to speak and you know eyes watch you both, so you answer him with only a soft smile that you hope the grainy image won’t expose.

He leans his head back against the cinderblock wall and sighs as his eyes close. You take the sample in silence and he never flinches even though your hands are trembling and you know he must feel the needle shaking.

You set your clipboard down beside him and as you finish up he opens his eyes and studies it.  
“A bluebell,” he remarks as he studies the small flower you've drawn at the top of your notes.

The flowers had grown wild where you'd lived as a child. Many of your memories were taken, fractured, but not that one. That one you remembered; their smells, their vibrant colours in the midday sun, the way morning dew looked on their velvety petals. It was all you had of the outside world and you clung to it to keep the hope alive that you one day might see them again.

“Yes,” you answer also in a whisper. “It's all I have left to remember.”

You back away slowly and leave. When you glance through the small portal window in the door after a few short seconds, you see him clutching his book, looking at you.

He smiles; soft almost innocent.  
You smile back; unable to help yourself.  
He waves.  
You wave back.

The distant sound of a metal door clanking make you jolt and you hurry along to the next name on the list.

**//**

The next time you see him it's a few weeks later. You don't know how many exactly, but maybe three. Today the smell of bleach is ripe on the air and you try to move through your list as quickly as you can.

He must know you’re on edge, because he moves slowly, gently rolling up the sleeve of his shirt before you're close enough to startle.

Wordlessly you set about your task and he keeps his eyes softly closed. The corners are crinkled and old grazes have healed over. He is handsome and while you don't think he can see you, you steal a few moments to focus on each part of his face.

His lips are full and slightly puckered in the centre, his chiselled jaw is bristled with a few days growth, and his hair is dark and perhaps a little greasy as the ends graze his shoulders.

“What do they call you?” he asks and your back stiffens.  
You aren't supposed to talk.  
His flesh fingers touch your trembling wrist as his eyes slowly open. “It's okay, no one is watching us today.” You want to believe his assurances, but you don’t know if you can, if you should.

Hesitantly you glance over your shoulder to the door you'd just come in through, above it was the small camera, but there was no menacing red light.

“How do you know?” you ask, your voice is trembling and your throat is dry.  
He smiles as he nods down to the wire at his feet. “No one has come to fix it yet.”

“You're going to get punished for that,” you say sadly as you finish up your job.  
He leans over and retrieves the same book out from under his pillow. The cover is dusty and torn and you can't tell what book it was. He holds it in his palms and it seems so small between them, before he opens it to a page somewhere near the middle. 

Pressed between the pages is a dried bluebell.  
“This is for you,” he says as he picks the fragile flower up so carefully between his fingers.  
“I can't get you out of here,” you sob as he offers you the small token.

“I know, you’re a prisoner just like I am. Only they let me out sometimes.” He lays the flower on your chart and smiles. “Hold on to your memories.”

His fingers graze over your knuckles and your breath trembles as it passes through your lips.  
“What do they call you?” he asks again.  
You open your mouth to answer him, but you don't know anymore. It's been that long. “I, I, don't know,” you stammer.

“How about I just call you Belle?”   
You look down at the bluebell and smile.  
“Okay.”

  
**//**

After that, there are times where you speak and times when you don’t. There are times when he touches you, and times where you languidly touch him, stalling to complete you task. You share secret smiles.

He calls you Belle and you call him Wynn.

It is a tiny fraction of humanity in a world where they had so carefully attempted to strip it all away.

  
You're excited to see his name on your chart for the day. There is a lightness in your step and a glow in your cheeks. But you keep your head low so no one can see it and you try your very best to walk as sullenly as everyone else.

His door is almost in sight when the hallway erupts into red flashing lights and a deafening siren soon follows.

You don't know what it means, but you do know that in less than 20 seconds, every door will be locked down. You look to the door behind you, you can make it back to the infirmary, but in a split second decision, you run forward instead.

You practically throw yourself into his room and close the door. Your panting chest is still pressed against it when you hear the bolt lock it. There was no way out of this room now, your key wouldn't open a lockdown door.

You take a deep, shaking breath as you slowly turn around. The room is bathed in shadows with only the flashing lights bathing the small room in lines of pulsing red.

He was off the bed, on his feet, and for the first time you realise how tall he is. Your lips are trembling as he takes a step forward.

You're praying you didn't make a mistake.

He closes in on you, large and imposing. You find yourself shaking and pressing your back into the door as he reaches up and...

Your eyes slam close reactively, you'd made a stupid mistake. But then you hear the sound of something clattering on the floor next to your feet.

You open your eyes and see the broken camera.

The two of you are alone.

He kisses you deeply, lifting your body onto your toes. It's rushed and frantic, which is exactly how you feel. You push your chest into him as his hand slides up your spine, and under your simple cotton shirt.

He severs the kiss and the two of you are panting short and shallow breaths. He touches your cheek with his metal fingers and a wake of shivers trickle down your neck.

“Belle,” he says the name he's gifted you so softly that it makes you want to cry and tears well up in your eyes.  
“Please,” you say, though you're not even sure you know what you’re asking for.

You just want his hands to touch you, and yours to touch him. He steps back from you and you wonder if every shared smile had been nothing more than fleeting kindness, but then he speaks.  
“We only have a short time,” he says and you nod your head.  
“I know.”  
His hands are wringing together. “It's not enough.”  
He reaches out his hand to touch your arm and you step closer to touch his.  
“It's all we have,” you breathe, tremored and unsure and your heart is racing against your chest. You can taste each breath in your throat and your head feels dizzy, but you want this. With every feeling you have, you know you want this. Perhaps you even need it.

You place your shaking hands on his broad chest, lift your body onto your toes, and kiss him like the brush of a feather, light and airy. Treasured. Innocent. Promising.

But above all else, it was needy; famished.

He picks you up in his arms as the kiss amorously deepens and your legs desperately coil around his waist. His tongue lashes yours and your teeth snip at his bottom lip as he sits back on the bed.

You peel off your own shirt and he tears off his before your lips crash back together. Sitting on his lap you ruck against him, relishing the hard shape of his cock growing beneath you.

He kisses down your neck as he holds you tightly and sharply pushes his sheathed cock against your aching sex, rubbing it into a flurry of pleasure.

You moan loudly, knowing the sirens are drowning you out beyond those four walls. You're already wet and your core feels like twisting lava below your skin. You can feel it prickling below your skin; the insatiable desire.

As he nips and kisses the threads of your throat, you reach around and unclip your bra. It falls to the floor with the rest of your clothes as the air whips around your sensitive nipples.

With a strong hand at your back he kisses wetly between your breasts and you arch into the delectable feeling, it’s slow and deliberate and you're certain he must be able to hear your thundering heart. You throw your head back and grind into his cock, humming at the friction that's burning between your legs.

He smooths his thumb under the crescent of your breast before he moves his lips to your nipple. He teases the tip with his tongue and you beg him with wet sighs to keep going as he traces the ripples of your tightening bud.

But you know your time is limited and you slide off his lap shaking with need. He looks at you, worried, for a moment until you strip off your jeans and panties and kick them to the side. You have nothing more than your black banded socks and your white sneakers on as his eyes devour every inch of you.

He roughly pulls you close and leans down to kiss the thatch of hair on your mound. You feel his warm breath slice through your folds and you sob out of need.

But time won't allow you quiet moments and you both know it.  
“Please, Wynn,” you say, faint and tremoring.  
But he steals a second, and then another to look at you and to discover your soft slopes with the fingers that will remember.

You tear your nails at the waistband of his camo-green pants for a few seconds before he caters to your unspoken request and pushes them hastily down his legs, kicking only one side loose.

His cock his hard and wet at the tip. Veins twist down the shaft and it pulses as you wrap your hands around it tightly.

Climbing back onto his bed, you guide his head through your wet folds, making both of you moan into another passionate kiss. You can taste your own heady scent on the air and as he growls against your lips, you assume he can too.

Satisfied that his head is slick with your arousal, you circle your thrumming entrance with the tip of his cock, toying and teasing, heightening your expectations. Your tongue slides across his bottom lips as his metal hand grips your ass and his other holds you between the shoulders while he twists the ends of your hair in his fingertips.

As you kiss him, you sink down onto his cock in one long, fluid motion until he's completed seated inside you. The feeling makes you whimper into the kiss. You feel so full, so wonderfully full, and the trickle of his fingers through your hair is a sensation of contact you have painfully missed.

You don't give yourself much time to relish the pleasure of his thick pike inside you, as time is not your friend and you crave the pleasure you know you both can find. You start slowly, riding up against him to shift the pressure of his cock against your walls as you glide up and down.

He kisses between your breasts again and his tiny nips on your powdery skin makes you move a little faster and take him a little rougher.

You're chasing your own breath as you speed up, rucking and thrusting and sinking your body onto his, frantically trying to find the release that your body is right on the edge of.

You know the siren has quietened and it will only be a few minutes, maybe less, before the red light stops flashing through the darkened room.

His kisses become more frantic and you beg him to leave a mark on one, which he does with his suckling mouth at the top of your right breast.

You bounce above him, swallowing your screams as he plunges deep and hard into your aching walls.

You clench, tightly, and its almost painful as he thrusts up and impales you. But it's all you need as your head thrashes forward and you forcefully kiss his lips.

Your climax comes suddenly and you can feel every inch of your body shaking around him as he comes too, shooting warm ribbons deep inside of you. You collapse into his strong arms and begin crying into the shallow dip between his shoulder and his neck, because you know that you need to leave him, you need to leave this.

“Belle,” he whispers in your ear before he raises your head from your chin and kisses your sodden cheek.  
You look at him with sad eyes as his cock begins to soften inside you.  
“Wynn,” you say back. You try to smile but its shaky and weak; fragile like a flower.  
“Hold onto your memories,” he says as he brushes wet hair back from your brow.

You nod and smile.

You will.


End file.
